The Chronicles of Always
by amwaltz.rain
Summary: Tino had always had such vivid dreams as a child. Until they stopped and he'd forgotten. Just because you forget something, doesn't mean it didn't happen. Dennor. Sufin. swearing and made up words.
1. Chapter 1

The Chronicles of Always

Most had dreams. When Tino Vainamoinen came to his parents with vivid tales of nonsense words they didn't think anything of their son's lucid dreams.

"Hullies" dancing from the trees in some child's meadow, the "gripes" in the fjord, the beasts guarding the field Azair. Tino spouted on about his adventures when he slept, keeping a notebook of drawings (he had yet to comprehend the alphabet) up until he was met with enough resistance, telling him that none of the meadows he described existed. None of those beings lived. His friends were not real.

Tino quieted about his fantastic adventures, his parents ignoring the scrapes and bruises that remained. He had been a clumsy boy, the marks could be from anywhere. The scrape wasn't from running with Matthias away from the wallafan stampede. The bruise wasn't from a Hullie dropping seedpods on them. The twigs and dried grass in his hair was a result of not bathing like he swore he did the night before, not the remnants of Lukas's and Emil's ceremony with the Trills. The strange ribbon tied around his wrist when he awoke was stolen the sewing room, not weaved out of pillar thread and tied with care by Berwald.

He was told to put such childish ideas away. Tino did not speak about his friends, instead writing madly every detail of his dreams, keeping his gifts from that realm hidden away in a chest built and carved by Berwald. No one believed him anyway, no one had to do anything.

Until the night he screamed.

His parents ran into the room prepared to fight for their son when they saw him on the bed, arched back and shrieking, Tino's arm bent at an odd angle and swelling. His mother ran forward to wake him when a grotesque crack filled the air. His right leg lay mangled without a reason. They carried him off to the hospital only to be offended with allegations of abuse while Tino did not wake up until morning. When asked what happened, he blamed "The Zipper". Some legal trouble and MRIs later, Tino stayed with his parents and at eleven and a half years old accepted the daily medication.

He never dreamed again.

…

Prologue for a new story, short chapters but updating should be easier. Operable word being should.

This came from a dream and alice in wonderland. Take from that what you will.

Questions? Comments? Critiques? Concerns? Let me know.

-Waltz


	2. Chapter 2

The Chronicles of Always  
Chapter 2

Upon clearing his first year alone, Tino considered it. He could drop the pills. Spill them down the drain. Flush them. Just throw them over the shoulder and out the window. He didn't know what they did. Why he needed them. 

Summer at his disposal he took the bottle in hand and threw it in the back of his drawer. 

Nothing happened. 

For a week, he didn't notice a change. No one said anything. He felt fine. 

Then what were the damn pills for? Other than the dancing stegosaurus in a tutu dream there was nothing different. Why would he be on a sugar pill, just a bunch of placebos for the last eight years? They didn't help him sleep, they just made it so he couldn't dream. Why did they bother? 

Slowly, he dreamt. 

The worn paths and stone crept like vines up a trellis, gaining what could hardly be called life in such a decrepit and foreboding . 

He finds himself on vaguely familiar trails and fields each morning before waking. 

After days of walking, he spotted a boy before waking. He was a little taller and a little younger than himself. The albino reached out to Tino and called his name before Tino was thrust into consciousness. 

The next night Tino found himself wandering the nonsensical paths lined with rusted gothic fencing. 

The second person he had seen in this place was perched in a tree, the airs of apathy and dignity tangible to him from the ground. 

"You're here." 

It wasn't a question, nor an obvious statement. Not surprise but aggravation tainted the words with a hint of accusation. 

"You're late." 

"Who-who are you?" Tino stuttered. 

The cold eyes flashed with rage and hurt for a moment before growing cynical, superior. 

"You don't remember." 

"Remember what?" Tino pleaded. 

The man laughed coldly. 

"They call me Lukas." 

The name struck a cord, a surge of memories bashed against a mental dam. He knew that name. He had to remember that name. 

"I..." 

"You what?" The man snapped. 

"I don't remember... But I remember your name." 

"You're late." Was all he said. 

"Late for what? I don't know what's going on." 

"Then leave." The mask began cracking. "W-we-we can get along without you... I only can because Emil said he saw you." 

"Emil... He's the one I saw on the hill last night then."

"... Leave me." Lukas whispered, weighed down with the ambiguousness of his words. 

"How?" 

"How indeed." He sounded small and pained. 

A howl broke the silence. 

"You should run." Lukas offered, unmoving from his branch. 

"Which way?" 

"Pick one and run. Up. Down. Left. Right. All ways. No ways. It's all the same. Run or they'll catch you." He sounded bored then, guard returned. 

The thundering against the path sent him sprinting the rest of the path, the broken Lukas watching from the tree. 

...  
Ha! I did say 'should' was the operative word. Chapters will wind up varying lengths.  
Sorry about that.  
Questions? Comments? Critiques? Concerns? Let me know.  
-Waltz


End file.
